The sun rose over London like a slow exhale.
Orange bled into pink, then gold, spilling through the gap in the blackout curtains Kyle had forgotten to fully close. The city stirred below—distant traffic, the first cries of gulls, the soft hum of a waking metropolis.
Kyle blinked.
He had no idea how much he needed that sleep. His body felt heavy in the best way, limbs loose, mind quiet. The kind of rest that came after days of running on adrenaline and bad coffee.
"What time is it?"
He reached for his phone. Nearly ten.
A knock on his door. It was light and rapid.
Then Jasmine's voice: "Brother Kyle? You 'wake?"
Kyle sat up, rubbing his face. The sheets smelled like Cassandra—faint floral, warm. He glanced at the other side of the bed. It was empty, she must have slipped out sometime before dawn.
"Why did she leave? It's not like we're a secret."
He didn't have time to dwell. Jasmine knocked again.
"Coming, kiddo."
